Christmas memo
CHRIS MOERDYK takes aim at the wrong kind of Christmas spirit.
Every year at Christmas, I must admit to getting a little piqued at the commercialisation of it all. What riles me most is the way businesses treat Christmas. Some shops see it as nothing more than a chance to make money. They start trotting out ersatz.
Christmas Carols from September onwards, while many of the professions and manufacturing companies see it as either an irritating distraction or a relationship-building marketing opportunity.
It is a time in which perspective is lost and priorities disappear. So much so, that I would imagine more than just a few businessmen will be able to relate to the following little scenario I have penned to illustrate my point.
“Miss McIntosh! Hilda! Could you for heaven’s sake tear yourself away from your computer and that infernal solitaire and take a memo. Or do I have to do everything myself because it’s December?
“Thank you. Here, use my pen. Right, let’s see. Memo: To all department heads. Staff Christmas party will be held in the canteen at 5:30 on the 19th. Josiah and Humphrey will not be allowed any liquor as they will be required to drive staff members home. Transport managers will have an extra R20 in their Christmas boxes as a gesture of goodwill.
“Good, now get hold of all the reps and make sure they deliver the whisky to our customers before the 23rd. Only those who haven’t given us uphill, mind. We’re not a damned charity organisation. Oh, and get me my wife on the phone, will you?
“Hi angel. How’s the light of my life today? What? Yes, of course it’s me. Who the hell else phones you like this? OK, relax. Don’t get hysterical.
“Now listen. I’ve really got my hands full with staff parties and business gifts. Can you sort out the kids’ presents and send the invitations for our Christmas Eve bash at home? And listen, don’t forget the people on that list I gave you yesterday. Of course we have to invite them. How the heck else can I put the party on my expense account? I’m not Father Christmas, you know.“
“Hilda! Get the chairman on the line for me. The old berk said he’d show his face in the office today…”
“Mr Harris? Good morning to you, sir. I just wanted to confirm that you and your good lady-wife will be with us for champagne breakfast and tennis on Christmas morning. Ah, jolly good, we’re delighted you can celebrate the happy day with us, sir.”
“Right. No more calls, Hilda; I must work out how I’m going to give the chairman that new set of golf clubs he’s been hinting about without busting myself financially. Oh, and next time that fairy from the ad agency calls in, drop him a subtle hint that if they can’t do better than another gold pen for me this Christmas, they’d better start looking for another client.
“Hilda! For Pete’s sake I said no more calls, woman! Who? My daughter? How many times have I told that child not to bug me at the office. Hell, this had better be an emergency or I’ll beat the… Hello, daddy’s little pumpkin, are you helping mommy nicely?
“You want me to take you to say happy birthday to your best friend? Of course my little sweetie-pie. No, some other time, precious. You know mommy and daddy have lots of things to do on Christmas morning.
“Of course, it’s more important than your friend, poppet. All those people are business friends and that’s how daddy makes lots of money to buy you lovely Christmas presents.
“Come now, my girlie, you’re beginning to irritate daddy. Why does it have to be on Christmas morning?
“Come on now, my darling, daddy’s really busy I don’t have time for this. No, I don’t want to play guessing games about your friend.
“Jesus Christ, will you give it a break? For crying… What? I guessed right about who?”
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